Monthly Archives: August 2015

To know that death is waiting,
Beyond a turn in the road,
To know that home, the place of beginnings,
Will also be the ending.
To have so much to bear,
And to know you are just one, and a weak one at that,
And still to drive home, to say goodbye.
To drive on to the last bend in the road,
Between fields and stone walls,
Tangled blackthorn and blackface looking on,
With the clouds rolling overhead,
And the hedgerows full of blackbirds.
Behind, in the house, a woman at the window,
Love left by the hearth,
And the last sound, the rattle and whine of death.
So much waste, so many years of shed blood,
And yours not the least.
No beauty in this terror, if not in the thought,
To go home and pass beyond the last bend in the road.

Like this:

This is for the poetry people who humour me in my quest for the perfect tiny form of poetry. I discovered the Florette when I realised the thing I was calling a Florette was actually called an Essence. I also discovered that I liked the real Florette better than the Essence. The Florette is too … Continue reading Florescence

So, this is the post you have all been waiting for. The badger latrine post. Over the last few months I have been catching up on a lifetime of having missed out on ‘nature’. Some people recognise birdsong, birds, animal tracks and animal poo without really noticing it. I don’t. I was brought up in … Continue reading Death and poo

I missed a couple of words out of the second poem. Not the Oracle’s fault—migraine. Broken heart heals with morning light. I wake to the memory of starfire and green ghosts, dancing to the rhythm of my yesterdays. When we were young, the smell of skin was so sweet, the stuff … Continue reading The stuff of dreams

A special ‘trinity’ for Saint Patrick’s Day. In praise of nature, one with ways of moon and sun— long years past, cross bringing, and tears in bells ringing, they came, the holy men— never the same again. Advertisements